So, as part of a larger theatrical installation this spring called School of Death, he offered a suicide note writing workshop to anyone who was interested in appreciating its literary art form.

The notes studied ranged from the terse and emotionally conflicted — “Dear Betty: I hate you, Love George” — to the narcissistic: “Now you will appreciate me.”

“The worst thing that can befall us is to die alone,” said Critchley, 53. “And the suicide note in some strange way is not to die alone. It’s always addressed to someone. It’s a failed attempt at communication.”